


The Reunion

by Josselin



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: 10 year angsty reunion, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-06-30 10:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: “When you were young,” said Damen, “we lived near here. South a few miles, back closer to the construction. And we were planning a new capital in the center of both Vere and Akielos, to combine the administrative functions of both kingdoms into a single location.”Leon had many questions but he wasn’t sure how many he was going to be allowed to ask. “By ‘we’ you mean you and me and Nikandros?”Damen’s arm was still on his shoulder. Damen pulled Leon in closer to his side and squeezed him briefly. “Yes, you, me, Nikandros, and also the King of Vere.”





	1. Chapter 1

Damen found her sitting at her dressing table with Kyrina styling her hair. Jokaste nodded at Kyrina, who curtsied and left murmuring Damen’s title. “Good morning,” Jokaste said. She picked up an earring from the dressing table. 

“Good morning.” Damen took the earring from her and she tilted her head obligingly as he put it on her. “I would like to visit you this evening,” Damen said. It was a habit he’d adopted years ago when they had first negotiated this arrangement. They didn’t spontaneously fall into bed the way they had when he had first been courting Jokaste and she would tease him at an entertainment and then permit him to follow her to her chambers afterward. Their arrangement now permitted each of them a greater degree of privacy in their affairs. Damen did not take advantage of this freedom for himself. He suspected Jokaste did, but she did so discreetly, and he didn’t care.

He knew her well, now, so he could see her thinking as he made his request. It was still a mystery to him what she was thinking, though. She could be mentally rearranging another visitor, perhaps, or simply thinking about what to wear. “Of course,” she said. She handed him the other earring from the dressing table and turned her head the other way. 

Damen placed the second one, careful not to disrupt Kyrina’s work with Jokaste’s hair. He fingered the earring for a moment. “Would you like anything from the festival?” he asked, remembering that the earrings she was wearing now had been a gift he had brought back from a trip to Patras.

Jokaste had turned back to her dressing table, and she made a face at Damen in the mirror. “It will be mostly Veretian merchants, will it not? Gaudy trinkets?”

Her earrings were simple gold and a single pearl. Jokaste set fashions for the ladies in Ios that harkened back to the traditional styles that resembled Damen’s mother’s dress in her statue at the summer palace. Damen made a noise of agreement. “Only if there is something tasteful, then?”

Jokaste turned in her chair to look up at him. “I would never turn away a tasteful gift,” she said. Damen had rested his hands on the back of her chair, and she placed her own smaller hands on top of his delicately. “Do you wish—now?” she suggested quietly.

Damen shook his head. “This evening,” he said, and then he pressed his lips gently to the top of her head and left her in her rooms for the morning’s business.

Nikandros presented the route selected to the festival mapped out on the table of geographical features that Damen’s father had used with his kyroi to plan for war. Instead of chariots and legions, the map now simply had a series of wagons and horses representing their course from Ios to the festival in Delpha. 

“It would be more appropriate to call it Delfeur,” said Leon to Nikandros, “given that it is currently a Veretian holding.”

Nikandros’s expression indicated that he would never personally be calling Delpha ‘Delfeur’ in the Veretian style, but he didn’t contradict the prince. Damen had been trying to involve his son increasingly in the business of the kingdom as he became older. His father had done the same with him. It seemed the best way to teach Leon what he would need to know when he became king some day. 

Nikandros nodded a greeting to Damen. Leon was still looking at the map laid out on the table. “The route seems circuitous,” he said. “The territory here,” he was pointing at a portion of the map near Marlas, “would permit us to proceed directly, and yet you have us crossing the stream to go at least a day to the east—that will add at least two days to the journey, which is another wagon of—”

“It’s better that way,” said Nikandros, glancing at Damen.

He had done it, Damen could tell, to avoid the half-constructed new palace they had left when Leon was a child. And he was being oblique about it because everyone in Ios was oblique in Damen’s presence about Laurent, as though mentioning the king of Vere might cause him to break down or enter a fit of rage or some such nonsense. Damen met Nikandros’s eyes and said nothing.

“But why?” said Leon. “It’s wasteful and it isn’t necessary—Father,” Leon turned toward Damen, “wouldn’t it be better to take the shorter route? Especially for Euandros—” that was Damen’s youngest son, who was thrilled to be taken along with them “—he’s not accustomed to riding at this distance,” Leon continued.

“We can take the shorter route,” said Damen.

Nikandros was still eyeing him warily. “Are you certain that’s wise?”

“As Leon said, it’s a fine area of the country for riding.”

Leon looked back and forth between the two of them, clearly sensing an undercurrent to this debate but uncertain what it was. 

Nikandros reluctantly adjusted the procession of riders on the map. Leon asked a question about the length of time they would need to spend on the ship at the start, and the tension in the room faded. 

Leon left to go and meet with one of his tutors. 

“Would you like to spar this afternoon?” Damen asked Nikandros.

Nikandros shook his head. “I’m spending the afternoon with Xanthippe.” 

Damen nodded. “Is she sure she doesn’t wish to join us? We could adjust for a carriage, and no one would mind—“

Nikandros shook his head. “She doesn’t like the fuss that accompanies travel of that distance, and she said sporting tournaments she can’t compete in aren’t worth the bother.” He said it with a smile, and Damen could picture the tone Xanthippe would have used for that announcement. Xanthippe was a warrior from Isthima, and she and Nikandros had met when she’d been recovering from an injury in Ios, and Nikandros had been obviously infatuated with her since their first meeting. Xanthippe’s injury meant that she couldn’t walk unassisted, and she made her way around the palace at Ios with crutches and specially designed chairs with wheels. 

Damen was about to offer again that they would be happy to have her on the journey, but Nikandros was blushing very slightly. “Also,” he said, “we’re expecting.”

Damen’s eyes widened. “Old friend! That’s wonderful!”

Nikandros was definitely blushing now. “In the winter,” he said. 

Damen clapped his friend into a hug and squeezed him. “I’m so happy for you. Fatherhood will suit you,” he said, squeezing Nikandros again, “I know from how patiently you have dealt with my children.”

Nikandros was smiling. “As long as mine isn’t like Eradne when she was—”

Damen groaned. “I’m sure not.”

They laughed together remembering how much of a terror Eradne had been. “I can’t believe you had another after that,” said Nikandros. 

“He was already conceived before she hit that stage,” said Damen, “or I probably wouldn’t have.” He grinned at Nikandros again. “I’m so happy for you. Are you certain you wish to come to the festival, then? I wouldn’t blame Xanthippe if she wished for you to stay.”

“I am coming,” said Nikandros, sobering. “I would not leave you to face it alone.”

Damen favored family meals over the gatherings of the whole court in the hall that his father had preferred, and for his last night in Ios he had requested only a small family gathering. 

Even a family meal was a boisterous affair. Leon spent half of the meal lecturing his siblings on the geography of their upcoming trip, and only Aratia paid any attention to him throughout his talk. Euandros just talked over Leon excitedly to anyone who would listen to his enthusiasms about his first horse, and Eradne had snuck a book in to the table somehow and was reading next to her plate. Jokaste would generally have taken the book away. She was less tolerant than Damen of Eradne’s habit of reading at odd moments. But Jokaste was distracted by Xanthippe’s news, and the two women spent much of the meal chattering about the best type of tea to drink in the mornings and whether carrying high or low was a sign of a boy or a girl. Nikandros was listening in on Jokaste and Xanthippe’s conversation and Damen let his eyes drift warmly over his entire family gathered together. 

After the meal he retired with Jokaste to her chambers. She resided in the queen’s chambers in the palace. It had been a minor scandal when he had first installed her there without marrying her first, but she had wanted it as part of their negotiation and it had meant nothing to Damen. He didn’t care who lived in what rooms of the palace and he’d made no secret of the fact that he had no plans to marry again, so there was no worry about what would happen when he took a wife. Ten years later, it seemed hardly remarkable, and it was convenient when he wished to visit her that they both lived in the same wing. 

She offered him wine, and he accepted, and then she sat down at her dressing table and began to remove her jewelry, until Damen stood behind her and brushed her hands away and did it himself. He set the earrings he’d put on her that morning back on the dressing table and unfastened her necklace and laid it next to them. Her hair was a mystery of pins, so he drank a mouthful of wine while he watched her pull gold pins out of it and it fell loose in waves around her shoulders. 

They spoke lightly of Xanthippe and Nikandros. “I didn’t know if Xanthippe’s injury would prevent it,” said Jokaste. “I am happy for them.” She turned to Damen and undid his jewelry as well, removing his father’s ring to go next to her earrings and setting his brooch next to them. 

“I am happy for them also,” Damen said, imagining Nikandros with his own babe in his arms. He suspected that Nikandros and Xanthippe had wished for children for some time, and he hoped that there were no complications with the birth. 

He thought back to when he’d first held his own child. He’d still been bedridden with his injury from Kastor when Laurent had arranged for Jokaste and Leon and Leon’s nurse to be safely brought to Ios, and it had been Laurent who had carried Leon in to first meet with Damen and placed him into Damen’s arms. Damen had quite suddenly realized that he had very little experience holding an infant, and was terrified he’d let Leon drop through his hands to land on his lap, but Laurent didn’t hesitate. 

“Is he mine, do you think?” Damen had asked Laurent, and Laurent had said, “He is, and you must never question it again.”

Damen didn’t know if Laurent had truly believed Leon was his and not Kastor’s, or that Laurent had meant it in more of a future sense—there was a tone of ‘he will be yours’ to his pronouncement. He’d been hesitant to ask Laurent about it directly for fear of having to confront Laurent’s Veretian distaste for bastards. But Laurent had told him not to question it, and Damen never did. Damen acted as though Leon were his son; Jokaste acted as though Leon were his son. It was either true or Jokaste found it advantageous to act so. Laurent actively proclaimed to the court that Leon was their son, and if there were further questions about Leon’s paternity Laurent hunted them down and they weren’t made openly at court.

He felt wistful, thinking back to when Leon had been a baby, remembering Laurent holding Leon—Laurent had had a little carrier made to keep Leon in a pack. Damen smiled remembering it. 

Jokaste had removed her dress and and hung it on a hook. She unwound Damen’s garment and draped the fabric over the chair in front of the dressing table. 

She gestured toward the bed, and Damen reclined. She joined him, sitting on the edge. He began to touch her, lazily, occasionally reaching over to his wine glass next to the bed for another sip. He spent a long time fondling her breasts with his hands. She indulged him. She had told him once that she found his attention to her breasts no more interesting than any other part, and yet Damen himself found it more interesting, and their arrangement was based on a frank admittance of what they each wanted.

Jokaste encouraged him to move his attentions lower, after a time, and he allowed himself to be pushed down the bed between her legs. He brought her off with his mouth, and then he crawled back up the bed, and she bent her knees a bit and he eased inside of her.

His thoughts were still tied up with thoughts of babies as he took her. He began to think of another child, and then the thought grew in his mind. He pictured Jokaste thickening with a fifth child, and then holding another little one in his arms. He imagined Euandros holding a new baby with wide eyes. Perhaps another daughter, he thought, or a son, either one. Euandros would like being an older brother as well as a younger brother, and there was something precious about the smallest ones and the way they rested their heads against his chest when they were sleepy. 

He liked the idea more and more. He thought of spilling within Jokaste; perhaps they could conceive again. She had various methods for contraception and sometimes told him not to finish inside of her, but she had said nothing about that this evening. That likely meant she had taken some other precaution to avoid a child, but Damen indulged the idea in his mind nonetheless.

He rested for a moment after he finished, staying inside of Jokaste as if that would somehow contribute to planting the seed deeper within. He had heard once that women were more likely to conceive if they orgasmed after the seed was within them, and the thought of that was enough to draw him down the bed once again to apply his mouth a second time.

Afterwards, Jokaste raised an eyebrow at him. “Something on your mind?” She thought he was thinking of Laurent, Damen realized suddenly. She thought he was thinking of the festival and of seeing Laurent again and what--distracting himself in bed to draw his mind away? Pretending she was Laurent? Perhaps she didn’t know.

“We could have another baby,” he said, trying to keep his tone light even though he’d spent the last quarter of an hour imagining it.

Jokaste sat up in the bed. “We had an agreement about four,” she said sharply. “Euandros was four.”

Damen made a noise. He remembered their agreement, and he didn’t really wish to renegotiate at the moment, but he also didn’t really want to let go of his fantasy of another baby.

Jokaste was watching him closely. She could tell, Damen thought, when he was thinking of Laurent, and sometimes she would ask him all-too-insightful questions about what he was thinking, and Damen did not wish to discuss Laurent with Jokaste, so he tried to think on other things when they were together.

“Are you going to sleep here?” said Jokaste, pulling a light cover over herself.

Damen sighed. “No,” he said. They both slept better separately, and he had a full day of travel ahead of him the following day. He levered himself off the bed, leaned in to kiss Jokaste gently, and then retrieved his own clothing from the back of the chair to make his way back to his own chambers.


	2. Chapter 2

Prince Leon of Akielos was fourteen years old. He had travelled before. His father had taken him to Patras a few years before, and before that they had gone together to Vask to meet with the Empress (she’d said he was scrawny, which had offended him deeply at age nine). 

His mother took him every couple years on a short trip with his siblings to visit her family’s keep, which mother said dismissively was just a large farmhouse. Mother complained about visiting them and disliked that it was impossible to take many servants with them. 

Leon had asked his father about his mother’s family, then, and Damen had just smiled and said they were minor landholders. He’d asked his tutor about Jokaste’s family and received a genealogy back to the time of Queen Eradne, at which point his parents’ ancestors were apparently distantly related cousins. 

But Leon had never traveled to Delfeur. “It’s exciting to go to new places,” he told his sister Aratia, who was nine. “I like to go places I’ve never been before.”

Nikandros was riding close to them. “You’ve been to Delpha before,” he said.

“To Delfeur?” said Leon, changing the inflection. His Veretian was better than Nikandros’s and Nikandros kept pronouncing Delfeur in the Akielon style.

Nikandros grunted.

“Have I been to Delfeur, Nikandros?” said Aratia.

“No,” said Nikandros.

“Was I very small when I went, then?” said Leon.

“We lived there when you were small,” said Nikandros.

“Where did we live when I was small, Nikandros?” said Aratia.

“Ios,” said Nikandros shortly.

Aratia looked a bit jealous that Leon had lived somewhere more interesting when he was small. “Why did Leon live in Delfeur, Nikandros?”

“We all did,” said Nikandros, which was typical of the type of non-answers Leon was often given about the recent history of Akielos. A couple years prior, he’d asked his history tutors for information about what had happened in the time of his grandfather and how his father had become king, and his tutors had looked at each other nervously and then suggested that perhaps he should ask his father directly about that time.

Then Leon had mentioned this to Nikandros later during one of their sword-fighting lessons, and Nikandros had stopped their lesson to very seriously tell Leon that he should not ask Damen about that, but that Nikandros himself would answer any questions that Leon had.

That had discouraged Leon from asking Damen about it very much, but Nikandros was not as forthcoming about information as Leon would have liked, either.

“But why did you all live there, Nikandros?” said Aratia, who was not as sensitive as Leon was to when Nikandros obviously didn’t want to answer questions.

“It was the new capital,” said Nikandros.

“But why?” said Aratia.

“Your father was trying to join the kingdoms.” This was more than Leon usually got in response to his questions.

“Why?” said Aratia.

“He was trying to be like the ancient kingdom of Artes,” said Nikandros.

“I learned about Artes from my history tutor,” said Aratia. “That’s when Vere and Akielos were one kingdom together and the old kings ruled from the ruins of the ancient palaces.”

“Yes,” said Nikandros. 

“Why did Father want to be like the Artesian kingdom?” said Aratia.

“Aratia,” said Leon warningly.

“What?” said Aratia. “I asked politely. Will you tell me more about Artes, Nikandros?”

Nikandros had a strained expression. “Your father had a--” he seemed to be searching for a word “--relationship with the King of Vere.”

“Oh,” said Aratia. “So they wanted to combine their kingdoms and rule them together!” she made it sound only natural. 

Nikandros grunted. 

“I remember the King of Vere,” said Leon, the words bursting out before he had thought them through.

“I saw a portrait of him,” said Aratia. “With a giant crown with five sapphires.”

“He had blond hair,” Leon remembered. 

“Yes,” Aratia agreed. “Under the giant crown.” Leon’s memory didn’t involve a giant crown, just a man with golden hair standing next to his father in a garden.

Nikandros grunted again. 

“Have you met the king of Vere, Nikandros?” said Aratia.

“Yes,” said Nikandros.

“What is he like?”

Nikandros looked sour. “He’s very smart but he isn’t very honorable.”

Aratia nodded. “Is that why Father decided not to join kingdoms with him?”

“Yes,” said Nikandros. 

Leon was left with the distinct impression that there was more to this story, but Aratia nodded as though this all made sense, and then she changed the subject to ask Nikandros why both Vere and Akielos had kings but no queens.

After their ride on the ship to Sicyon, they continued riding. After close to two weeks of travel, they were only a few days from the festival. 

Leon paid particular attention to the portion of the journey where Nikandros had suggested the circuitous diversion. The terrain was well suited to riding, and the road was well kept and suitable for the wagons. There was no need to have taken an alternate route. 

Nikandros had arranged himself to ride next to Leon’s father, that day, and Leon watched them closely and kept half an eye on Euandros who was riding next to him. Euandros was singing a song about the trees and birds they were passing to the tune of a traditional drinking song. He kept repeating a rhyme of “wing” with “sing” and it was annoying Leon unduly.

They rode over a ridge and a half-constructed building was suddenly visible. Leon looked over in earnest. There was a dirt road, and and some areas of the ground that were cleared of trees that might have been intended for various constructions. In the center of the clearings there was a half constructed manor house. It was a strange mix of the other types of buildings Leon was accustomed to. It wasn’t like the palace on the white cliffs in Ios, which was defended by the town’s wall and the cliffs over the harbor and the harbor’s defenses, leaving the palace to simply be for pleasure. Nor was it exactly like the keeps he’d visited closer to the border, which were rough-hewn rock buildings clearly built primarily for defense, where indoors a few hanging tapestries couldn’t disguise the basic military purpose of the building.

The manor was a combination of the two, with some defensive features that Leon could recognize half-built in the rock walls, and yet also a layout in the foundation that seemed suited to a large court and holding. It seemed, both because it was half-constructed and because of the style of how it was built, like the Artesian ruins that they sometimes came across in the landscape. 

Leon nudged his horse and left Euandros to move up next to his father. “Father, what’s that?”

His father and Nikandros were both very determinedly watching the road. 

“We’re not going to discuss it, Leon,” said Nikandros, and his tone was final enough that Leon moved his horse back next to his brother.

He felt reprimanded, and wondered if he too should be silent and keeping his eyes only on the road ahead, but the half-constructed buildings were so interesting, and Euandros was staring at them openly, and Leon couldn’t help but dart his eyes over that direction every few moments. 

It would have been a pleasant place to camp for the night, but they continued past it, and they didn’t stop until it was out of sight behind them, and Nikandros signaled the wagons that they should camp in a circle for the evenings on the plains. 

Leon had been trying to join his father and Nikandros for meals on the trip. His father often shared interesting stories with him or asked him questions about what they were doing or about ruling, and his father told him that it was important preparation for the day when Leon would take over that responsibility. But when the food was being served around the fires Leon was still feeling reprimanded, so he sat at the fire next to Euandros and ate with Euandros and their sisters. Eradne helped Euandros with some better rhymes for his song. 

The nurse came along and fetched Aratia and Eradne and Euandros off to bed, but Leon stayed by the fire. 

He was staring at the flames when his father sat down next to him, and Leon looked over, surprised. 

His father was holding a winesack, and he took a drink from it and then offered the bag to Leon. 

Leon raised his eyebrows slightly. His father let him drink watered wine at court dinners, but usually told Leon he was too young. Being offered a drink in this way was unusual. Leon accepted. The drink was stronger than the watered wine he was used to, and he coughed a little bit. 

His father smiled at him and clapped him on the back, and then left his hand there on Leon’s back even as Leon finished coughing. There was something comforting about Damen’s hand there, and though Leon would have never asked for it, he felt reassured by his father’s warm presence next to him.

Damen took the winesack back and drank from it again. “Leon. You asked earlier today about the ruins of the new capital.”

Leon hadn’t known that was what the buildings had been. “I didn’t mean to pry,” said Leon.

“I’m sorry Nikandros was short with you,” said Damen.

“Do you not wish to speak of it?” Leon said. 

Damen sighed. “Nikandros thinks I don’t wish to speak of it,” he said. Leon wasn’t sure what that meant. His father and Nikandros were almost always of one mind about things, whether it was how to approach ruling in Ios or dealing with the kyroi or trade negotiations with the Empire. But Damen’s comment made it sound as though they were not necessarily in agreement.

“When you were young,” said Damen, “we lived near here. South a few miles, back closer to the construction. And we were planning a new capital in the center of both Vere and Akielos, to combine the administrative functions of both kingdoms into a single location.”

Leon had many questions but he wasn’t sure how many he was going to be allowed to ask. “By ‘we’ you mean you and me and Nikandros?”

Damen’s arm was still on his shoulder. Damen pulled Leon in closer to his side and squeezed him briefly. “Yes, you, me, Nikandros, and also the king of Vere.”

“And you were building a new capital because it would be easier to govern from the center?” said Leon.

His father made a noise. “I am not sure it is fair to say it was easier to govern from the center. It was very hard to move the courts from Ios and from Arles, actually. It’s probably more true that we did it because we wanted to be together.”

“You and the king of Vere?”

His father nodded. 

“Nikandros said that the king of Vere is smart but not very honorable.”

His father’s forehead creased. “That’s not true.” It was rare for his father to so directly contradict Nikandros. “He is very smart. He’s also honorable. Nikandros just doesn’t like him very much.”

“Why does Nikandros not like the king of Vere?”

Damen took another drink from the winesack. “They have history,” he said, and Leon decided not to push because he had already learned more than he usually did.

“Father, I--” Damen looked over at him. “I think I remember the king of Vere?”

Damen tilted his head to the side. “Yes, you probably do.”

“So I did know him?”

“Oh yes,” said Damen. “You adored him. He was your favorite when you were small.”

Leon swallowed. “Did he not like me?”

“He loved you,” said Damen. “Why would you ask that?”

“Why did he leave?” said Leon, and that was the final question because Damen didn’t answer. His father drank again from the winesack, and then offered it again to Leon, and Leon shook his head.


	3. Chapter 3

The journey was uneventful. Damen could feel Nikandros hovering near him. He wondered what Nikandros was worried was going to happen. That Damen was going to turn the procession around? Declare war on Vere? Lose his temper and yell at the servants?

The arrival at the festival, like much of the festival itself, was carefully choreographed. That was Laurent’s work, or at least one of the Veretian administrators. Damen didn’t care about the ceremony with which he was supposed to arrive, or that they both approach the final half-mile at the same time so there was no debating over who arrived first. It seemed silly to him that they delayed a morning a mile away from the site to stage the arrival so, but he spent the morning climbing trees with his children near the river and followed the ceremonial instructions. 

Aratia was the best tree climber. Damen stayed in the low branches where he was confident they were thick enough to support his weight, but the others went higher. Euandros wasn’t big enough to make it up as high as his sisters, and Eradne made it half way up the tree before pulling a book from her pocket and continuing to read. Leon and Aratia went up further, but Leon was more timid than Aratia as the branches of the tree thinned out closer to the top, and she made it to the highest point alone. 

“Very good climbing,” Damen told Aratia, while Nikandros yelled from the ground that they should all climb down carefully. 

The only casualty of the climbing diversions was Euandros’s tunic, which caught on a twig as he hopped off the lowest branch and tore. Damen helped him redrape it around himself so that the tear wasn’t visible.

The arrival ceremony was overly long and formal. Damen and his children were arranged in a line with Damen in the center. Leon was on his left and Euandros was on his right. Damen could feel Euandros fidgeting next to him as the ceremony drew on. 

Across from them, Laurent was alone. He didn’t have any children and there were no cadet branches of the Veretian royal house to join him. 

Damen understood from the Veretian ambassador that the king’s childless state caused a great deal of anxiety in the kingdom, because the court did not know what to expect when the time came for succession. There was a nobleman in Kempt who claimed to be a distant cousin and was putting himself forward as a contender, but he was actually older than Laurent and also childless. Laurent seemed to favor a certain noblewoman in Arles, Lady Mathilde, who he had appointed to his council and entrusted with significant administration of the kingdom. There was a lot of hope in the court that the king would marry Lady Mathilde. The ambassador had paused before confiding to Damen that there had even been a coup at the court where some gentlemen began scheming that Lady Mathilde should have a child, and then the king would marry her out of pity, and at least then there would be an heir, even if it stunk of bastardy.

The ambassador then had waved his hands and said, “No offense to your highness or your children, of course, you know that Veretians feel differently about such things,” and Damen had simply nodded and let it go.

Damen avoided eye contact with Laurent at first, resting his eyes on Laurent’s embroidered collar or carefully scanning the line of the Veretian council two steps behind him. As the master of ceremonies droned on, Damen met Laurent’s eyes, and found Laurent gazing directly back at him coolly. Damen set his jaw and held Laurent’s gaze, watching until the master of ceremonies finally finished, and even then he let Laurent turn away first.

They were to greet each other after the introduction, and there had been some sort of special instruction on what Damen was to do, but he no longer remembered what it was. He offered his hand in a traditional Akielon greeting, lifting it and turning his palm up in an invitation.

Laurent might be wondering why Damen was not following the agreed upon lines, but he did not hesitate, and rested his hand delicately on top of Damen’s. His hand was cool. It didn’t seem as though they were actually touching, even though they were.

“Our brother of Akielos,” said Laurent. His voice was the same. It was an echo of the way he had spoken the same words long ago in a command pavilion at Fortaine. There was a similar chill to how he spoke now. 

“Our brother of Vere,” said Damen, automatically. Damen was wiser, now, perhaps. If Laurent said that he had brought Damen a gift, Damen was going to decline without knowing what it was, political spectacle be damned.

When they had arranged their spectacle at Fortaine, Damen had brought along his own gift, the golden cuff tucked in a velvet bag, carefully reworked by a blacksmith to fit Laurent’s wrist. He had the same cuffs with him now, tucked in a velvet bag yet again. But it was different. They were not at the ready with one of his squires, but carefully tucked away in his trunk, with instructions to his squires specifically not to touch them. He wasn’t wearing one of them himself, and his wrists were conspicuously bare. Laurent’s wrists were covered by his jacket.

Laurent had left the cuff behind when he had left New Artes. Damen had continued wearing his for a while after Laurent’s departure, much to Nikandros’s dismay. After Aratia had been born, he had been playing with her in the gardens, and she had liked the way the light caught on the cuff, and Damen had been teasing her with it and only paying half-attention. 

Jokaste came to relax with them in the gardens and had given his cuff a cool glance and had said, only, “You will have to explain it to her, one day.” Damen had had a blacksmith help him remove it that evening, and had tucked the opened pieces into the velvet sack where he kept Laurent’s cuff, and spoke of it no further. He could feel Jokaste’s eyes on his wrist the following morning when he came to fetch Aratia for breakfast, but she said nothing.

Laurent withdrew his hand and, still stone-faced, nodded at each of the princes and princesses, starting with Leon as the oldest, and then Aratia, Eradne, and Euandros. Each of them were solemn, and they nodded back politely without saying anything. Then, a horn blew, and the festival was officially begun, and they all made their way into the grounds to watch the opening ceremony and feast. 

Royalty was seating in two pavilions at the front of the festival, one draped in Veretian colors and the other in Akielon. Servants came and and out of both, serving food and refilling goblets. Damen observed a Veretian servant pouring into Laurent’s cup at one point and Laurent was not drinking water.

Damen was kept busy throughout the feast by the children. Euandros decided he didn’t want to eat any fowl with bones and kept asking Leon and Damen to check his plate to ensure that none of the poultry he was served had any small bones hiding in it. Damen was more patient with this than Leon was, who scolded Euandros that he shouldn't be a baby and should just eat around the bones. There was an archery contest for children, and Aratia wanted to participate, so Damen left the dais for a bit to help her with her arm guards. She didn’t win, but she was gracious in congratulating the Veretian boy who did.

Leon and Eradne started talking about the Veretian words for various things at the festival, and when they exhausted Leon’s vocabulary they drew Damen into their conversation to help. 

After the meal was finished, there was a wrestling competition. It was only Akielons participating, with the Veretians looking on curiously. Damen watched and pointed out various expert moves to Leon; the participants were quite skilled. 

The matches were won by a wrestler Damen had seen before, one of Makedon’s younger sons named Lander. He had Makedon’s build and athletic inclination, but was somewhat cannier about strategy than Makedon himself. Damen raised his goblet in admiration at the conclusion of the match, and Lander bowed his head in honor.

Lander then approached the Akielon dais. 

Damen groaned. “Lander, you know I’m too old for that.” 

Lander snuck a grin up at a his king and then bowed his head against respectfully, going down on one knee. “Your highness, you would honor me?”

“I just ate,” Damen said. 

“Father says one must always be ready to fight, even after eating,” Lander said slyly, and Damen left the dais grumbling that Makedon was going to be the death of him. 

Damen won the first bout, quickly, using an ancient technique that he found many young wrestlers hadn’t studied, though he thought that if anyone trained their sons in the old moves it might have been Makedon. 

“Best two of three,” Lander said, streaked with oil, and Damen was enjoying the noise of the crowd and the thrill of wrestling a truly talented opponent, so he agreed.

Lander won the second match, though Damen was pleased that it at least took him several minutes to do so, and Lander looked thrilled afterward. 

The third match drew on just as long, and then Damen managed to get Lander in a headlock, and he was able to use his greater bulk as an advantage in that position, and Lander conceded. 

They shook hands afterward, and they were both laughing as a servant handed them each towels to try to wipe off some of the extra oil. “Good fight,” Damen told Lander, and Lander went off to join his friends, who toasted him with mugs of ale, and Damen went back to the dais. 

“Father, your hair has oil in it,” Eradne told him, and Damen told her very seriously that that happened sometimes when wrestling, and gestured for one of the servants to refill his goblet.

After the feast had concluded, and his children were sleeping in their tents, Damen retired to his own tent and tried to work on the oil left in his hair from the wrestling with a towel. It was hopeless; he would have to wash. He decided he would speak to his servants in the morning. 

There was a noise, and he turned around.

Laurent stood in the doorway of his tent. The tent flap fell shut behind him, shutting out the moonlight. They were lit only by the brazier. Laurent was holding a wine bottle; Damen noted that the bottle was not full. Given how he had been drinking at the feast, it appeared that Laurent had successfully developed a tolerance.

Damen felt for a moment as though he ought to be holding a weapon for this encounter, and he relaxed his empty hand deliberately. He felt both anticipatory and relieved. Part of him had known he had come to this festival specifically for this moment, to talk to Laurent, to have it out with Laurent, to have the fight that they’d never managed to have ten years earlier when Laurent had simply left. Damen was much better at fighting than he was at dealing with Laurent’s dance of avoidance.

Laurent took another step into Damen’s tent. He swayed slightly as he stepped, but when he spoke his voice was crisp.

“In ten years, I haven’t been even remotely tempted to have sex with anyone, and then you show up and wrestle with your shirt off and--” Laurent drank from the bottle he was holding.

Damen took a step closer to him, annoyed. He had thought that they were finally going to talk about what had happened, not talk about sex. “I’m not going to have sex with you,” said Damen.

Laurent eyed Damen’s skirt. “I think you will.”

Laurent was right. Damen still hated that Laurent was always right.

Laurent took a step closer to Damen, looking up at him, and then Laurent reached for Damen’s skirt. Damen caught his arm and held his wrist warningly. Laurent made no attempt to free his wrist, but he leaned in with his body. For a moment Damen thought that he was angling for a kiss, but then Laurent’s mouth landed on Damen’s jaw, and he bit Damen, gently.

Damen made a warning sound in his throat and let go of Laurent’s wrist and put both of his hands on Laurent’s shoulders. Laurent went after his skirt yet again, and the anger within Damen changed, suddenly, thwarted in wanting to argue with Laurent finally after ten years, and he roughly pulled Laurent in even closer and Damen kissed him. 

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. Laurent still seemed to be in a biting mood, and it was as though Damen was trying to make his point from the argument with his body now, rather than with his words. Laurent managed to get his hand wrapped around Damen’s cock through his skirts, and Damen impatiently pushed Laurent down toward his bedroll, and then kneeled over him to follow. 

Damen unwrapped his skirt. Laurent had managed to tangle it somehow when he had reached inside it, but Damen was still undressed before Laurent. Laurent wasn’t wearing a jacket, but he had ties on his shirt to loosen before he pulled it off over his head, and laces on his trousers.

Damen knelt over where Laurent was reclined on the bedroll and watched. Laurent met his gaze evenly as he removed his clothing. He pushed the clothes off of the bedroll and then relaxed into a lounging position again, his arousal obvious. 

“I want to talk,” said Damen, aware that it was a ridiculous assertion when they were poised on the bed, hard and wanting.

“Your timing is as poor as ever,” said Laurent, and then more than wanting to talk, Damen wanted to shut him up, and he crawled up over Laurent and took his mouth in a kiss again.

They didn’t talk, during. They didn’t need to talk, because their bodies remembered how to move in sync. Whenever Damen became tempted to say something, Laurent bit him. 

After their breath had slowed, Damen gentled. He ran a hand along Laurent’s arm. “You haven’t been training,” he observed. Laurent hadn’t the same musculature he had when he regularly practiced swordfighting.

“I haven’t had a reason,” said Laurent.

Damen sighed. “I suppose I’m glad you don’t hate me enough to be training to kill me any longer.”

Laurent sat up. “I don’t go after things I know are impossible.” He slithered out of Damen’s bedroll and pulled his trousers on.

Damen watched him dress for a long moment. Laurent moved to the entrance of the tent. “Running away,” said Damen. “I see you’re still good at that.”

Laurent turned and looked back at him in the darkness. His expression was cold and unreadable. Damen thought about apologizing and taking his comment back, but then Laurent was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Euandros’s nurse had entrusted Euandros to Leon, so the two of them were exploring the Akielon portion of the festival camp together on the first morning of the festival. Leon found the whole festival exciting and on the edge of overwhelming. He’d met the King of Vere the day before, and then the sporting events had been impressive though Leon felt too intimidated to participate, and the feasting had been delicious. 

They went to the rations tent and ate breakfast. The cooks were serving sausages wrapped in rolls, and Leon ate two. Euandros ate half of one after making Leon assure him twice that there were definitely no bones in it.

“It’s a sausage,” said Leon. “There are no bones in sausages.”

“Just check it,” said Euandros.

After they ate, they wandered toward the practice rings. Euandros asked Leon what type of animal sausages were, that they didn’t have any bones. 

“Ask your tutor,” said Leon.

There were men wrestling in one of the practice rings, as they came closer Leon realized it was his father and Nikandros, so they walked over.

“Father!” said Euandros. “What type of animals are sausages?”

Nikandros took advantage of their father looking over at Euandros’s question to put Damen in a headlock. 

When their match was over and Nikandros was gloating, Euandros had climbed into the ring. “Father, I want to wrestle.”

“Wrestling has a long and important history in Akielos, Euandros,” said Damen seriously. Leon had heard his father’s lecture about wrestling many times, so he turned to Nikandros. 

“Are you training to beat Lander?”

Nikandros laughed. “No, your father just had a mood where he wished to practice this morning. Lander is probably still nursing a hangover, or I would turn the duty over to him.”

Damen’s lecture had concluded and he was helping Euandros take his tunic off. 

“Leon, I’m going to oil myself,” said Euandros, and then he proceeded to put one finger into the bowl of oil and to smear it on his arm in a single streak. 

“You’re doing it wrong,” said Leon, but Damen was laughing warmly. 

“How about some more oil, Andy,” said Damen, dipping his own hand in the oil and rubbing Euandros down more thoroughly. “Leon, will you join us?”

Leon removed his own tunic. 

They practiced for a while, and then their father and Nikandros had to attend to some business and left the wrestling ring, and Leon and Euandros practiced a while longer, just the two of them. Leon beat Euandros seven times, even though Leon knew that he was not a particularly talented wrestler. There was a story that his father had begun winning wrestling competitions when he was about Leon’s age, but Leon hoped it was just a myth, as he had little chance of winning any wrestling competitions at the present.

“I am going to be a great wrestler like Father,” said Euandros. 

Leon was dubious. “You’re not very good now. You couldn’t even pin me.”

“You are much bigger than I am,” said Euandros. “I will pin you when I am bigger.”

Leon made a skeptical noise.

“Let’s practice with swords, next,” said Euandros, and Leon agreed, because he liked swords better than wrestling, at least. 

They pulled their tunics back on, and left the rings set up for wrestling with towels and bowls of oil and moved eastward toward the practice rings for swordfighting. 

Leon helped Euandros select a wooden practice sword that was the right length for his arms, and then he started going through the forms, counting them off, and occasionally glancing to the side to see if Euandros was following along. 

Euandros wanted to spar, so after they made it through the fifth form, Leon agreed, and let Euandros practice his attacks for a few minutes. It wasn’t difficult to parry Euandros’s strikes, and Euandros wasn’t having any success with his attacks until Leon noticed that there was a man observing them from the side of the ring and became distracted. The man standing near the fence was blond, and though he was just dressed in plain riding clothes, Leon recognized him from the day before as the King of Vere.

“I got you!” said Euandros, striking Leon again. “I got you again!”

“Hold!” said Leon, turning his attention back to his brother and glaring. 

Euandros turned to see what had captured Leon’s interest, and also spotted the man watching them.

Leon wasn’t sure what to do about their observer, but Euandros started walking over toward him before Leon could say anything.

“Euandros,” Leon hissed, but Euandros ignored him.

“Hello,” said Euandros to the King of Vere, speaking Akielon.

The King seemed amused. “Hello,” he said, also in Akielon.

“I’m Euandros,” said Euandros. “Will you practice swordfighting with me?”

Leon sucked in a worried breath.

“Yes,” said the King. 

Leon bit his lip. “Euandros,” he said. “Don’t bother the King.”

“It’s no bother,” said the King.

“It’s no bother, Leon,” said Euandros, echoing the King.

Leon searched for another polite way to pull his brother out of this. “Euandros, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Euandros ignored him. The King looked at him evenly, and Leon blushed and dropped his gaze, then was angry that he had done so, and looked back at the King. The King still had a vague air of amusement about him.

Leon stood by nervously while the King selected a practice sword and stood across from Euandros. They saluted in the Akielon style, and then Euandros attacked, leaving his side wide open as usual, but the King ignored the opening and parried Euandros easily, stepping back and then parrying Euandros’s second blow. 

Leon didn’t know what to do. He was still convinced that this was a very bad idea. He was torn between staying to supervise--he did not think that Euandros should be left alone with the King of Vere--and going to fetch someone who could help him with this. Perhaps he could find his father. Or Nikandros. 

The King let Euandros attack a second time, and then said, “Hold.” Euandros froze obediently. The King stepped closer to him and corrected his stance. “If you hold your arm like this, you will be better protected on your weak side,” he said, “and you will find more strength in your blow.”

“Thank you,” said Euandros, adjusting and holding the pose that the King had indicated. 

“Try it again.” They repeated the same attack and parry, and Euandros did better with his arm position. “Very good.”

“I am going to be a great swordsman someday,” Euandros told the King. “Like my father.”

The King smiled. “Yes? You will need to practice a great deal.”

“I will,” said Euandros. “Have you ever wanted to be a great swordsman like my father?” 

“Yes,” said the King. 

“Did you practice a great deal?”

The King replied with a serious tone but his eyes were still laughing. “I did.”

Euandros nodded seriously. 

“Again,” said the King, and Euandros moved to attack him once again.

Leon spotted Nikandros walking back near the wrestling rings, and so he left Euandros and the King and jogged across the sporting area. “Nikandros!”

Nikandros looked over at him.

“Euandros is fighting with the King of Vere!”

“Fighting how?” said Nikandros. Leon gestured back across the sproting area toward the swordfighting practice, and the two of them jogged back over. Nikandros came to a halt outside the ring, resting his forearms on the wooden fence. Leon stood next to him.

“I didn’t know what to do,” said Leon. “He was there, and then Euandros asked him to practice, and then--”

“I should have anticipated this,” said Nikandros. 

In the ring, the King was being more patient with Euandros than Leon usually was, and freer with his praise than their swordmaster. He praised Euandros’s form when it was good, gave him corrections for his footwork and was patient while he tried them, and then praised him again when he managed the steps in the correct sequence. Euandros beamed under the attention.

Nikandros said nothing, simply watched. The King met Nikandros’s eyes at once point, and nodded in recognition, and Nikandros nodded back, but neither of them spoke to each other. The King turned back to Euandros. Leon stood next to Nikandros nervously.

Later in the day, Leon took Euandros to lunch. They encountered their father on the way to the rations tent. Euandros ran up to their father and started excitedly telling him about their day. Damen swung Euandros up into his arms and carried him. “We ate sausages. There weren’t any bones. And then we wrestled--”

“He was there, Euandros,” said Leon.

“--and then Leon and I practiced with swords, and then I asked the King to fight with me.”

Leon could see his father’s half-attention to Euandros’s update become his full attention. Euandros recounted the experience in great detail, listing off all of the suggestions the King had had for him. 

Leon frowned. When Euandros paused for a breath, he said, “I told him this wasn’t a good idea.”

Damen looked over at Leon, and then met Nikandros’s eyes. “Laurent is a fine swordsman and a patient teacher.” 

“He gave me lots of advice,” said Euandros. “What is for lunch, Father?”


	5. Chapter 5

Damen heard about Euandros’s encounter with Laurent from Euandros himself, excitedly, from Leon, nervously, and from Nikandros, who presented it stone-faced and without emotion. Damen allowed himself a moment of speculation as to why Laurent had even been lingering alone around the sporting area early in the morning, smug that his plan to wrestle again had drawn Laurent’s attention, and then he pushed it from his mind. 

Damen encouraged Euandros’s swordfighting practice, reassured Leon that Laurent was a competent teacher and wouldn’t hurt Euandros, and gazed back evenly at Nikandros to show that Damen himself was not about to break down at the mention of Laurent’s name.

His mind flicked throughout the day back to the night before. Thoughts distracted him. He remembered the taste of the wine in Laurent’s mouth. He walked into his tent mid-morning and suddenly caught a breath of Laurent’s scent. It seemed impossible that Laurent could have been next to him the night before, and yet his body remembered it vividly. It seemed equally as impossible that he at one time had had that every night. That he had gone to bed assuming that Laurent would be there when he woke. Damen’s chest felt heavy, the long ache of a distant wound where the pain has lingered so long he was almost numb to it. 

As the day went on, his memories of the night prior seemed far away, and yet memories of their years in New Artes seemed very close. The weather at the festival location had something of the quality of the weather in New Artes, and there was some kind of tree blossom that gave the air a similar scent. 

Damen watched Euandros and Eradne play a hopping game with some of the younger children of one of the Veretian nobles, and he remembered when Leon had been even smaller than they had. Euandros and Eradne wore traditional Akielon garb, setting fashions in Ios the same way their mother did. But as a boy Leon had wore Veretian costumes, with elaborate vests with laces and hats that tied under his chin. Damen remembered him trailing after Laurent in those ridiculous clothes, and Laurent picking him up and carrying him when Leon became tired. 

When he retired to his tent that evening, Damen admitted to himself that he was waiting. He was tired; he had not slept much the night before. Yet he was far from sleep, even if he had reclined, sleep would not have come. He sat on a low chair near the brazier and watched the tent entrance.

Laurent’s entry was silent. He wasn’t carrying a wine bottle. Laurent saw him waiting, and hesitated, and then took two steps into the tent, the flap dropping closed behind him.

Damen stood, and took a matching two steps closer to Laurent. They were an arm’s distance apart.

Laurent started to say something. Damen moved in closer and reached up to place a finger across Laurent’s lips. “Let’s not talk.”

After a moment, Laurent closed his lips under Damen’s finger.

Damen lifted his hand away, and moved it to the laces on Laurent’s clothing instead. Laurent stood still and Damen unlaced as slowly as he had when he had first been taken to Arles and the knots felt clumsy under his fingers. It wasn’t clumsiness, now, just deliberation and a refusal to rush. 

He finished with the lacings on Laurent’s sleeves and front, and pushed the jacket off over his shoulders. Laurent’s arms were still hanging limp, and the jacket fell to the floor. Laurent opened his mouth again, as though he were going to speak. Damen raised his finger and placed it over Laurent’s lips a second time.

When Laurent had subsided and closed his lips again, Damen moved on to the lacing of his linen undershirt, and when that was loosened, Laurent raised his arms cooperatively and Damen tugged it off over his head. 

The previous night, their sex had been annoyed and bordering on inconsiderate, each of them using the other while their emotions were still separate. Toward the end, Damen had lost himself, consumed with the scent of Laurent and the feeling of his body and overwhelmed by all of the feelings he couldn’t put words to.

This evening, Damen focused deliberately on using all of his skills to take Laurent apart. He undressed Laurent and interspersed that with touching him gently. When Laurent moved toward the bedroll, Damen caught his wrist and brushed the fingers of his other hand through Laurent’s hair. He leaned in and let his lips linger on Laurent’s exposed shoulder.

Laurent began to say something. Damen hushed him.

Damen pretended at first that the last ten years hadn’t happened. They were in a tent near the construction at New Artes. Leon was in the next room with his nurse and they could look in on him if they wanted. Laurent was with him, and not the way it had been toward the end, either, but the way it had been at the beginning.

By the time they moved to the bedroll, Damen’s thoughts had changed. He wasn’t pretending they were in the past any longer. His thoughts were filled with showing Laurent the pleasure Damen could bring him, as though he could win Laurent back to him with how he made him feel. 

“Don’t think,” Damen told Laurent, speaking Akielon.

“I can’t think,” Laurent murmured in the same language. 

“Don’t,” Damen said again. 

He brought Laurent to pleasure twice before he focused at all on his own pleasure, and then there was a moment of heavy silence. Laurent was flushed and sweaty and languid, and he sat up slowly in the bed and reached for Damen.

Damen was uncertain, for a moment. He wanted to please Laurent again more than he wanted for Laurent to touch him. He already felt that he was coming apart and he wasn’t certain he could handle the abandon that might come with Laurent turning his attention to Damen’s body. 

“Laurent,” Damen said.

“Don’t think,” said Laurent, and he moved in closer to Damen again, pressing their bodies together. Damen’s lips found his neck and that was good. Curling against Laurent with abandon was better than feeling Laurent’s heavy gaze in the darkness.

They rested close to each other, and Damen’s arousal became less urgent, and when Laurent stirred in his arms and reached for Damen with intent, Damen caught his arm, and drew it away, and caressed Laurent’s arms gently instead, and then he turned the absent tender touching of Laurent into more deliberate tender touches, and brought Laurent to pleasure a third time.

They fell asleep wrapped together in the bedroll. Damen had an arm around Laurent and his nose buried in Laurent’s hair. Laurent was warm in his arms and Damen could feel the rhythm of his breath. 

When Damen woke, his arms were empty and there was a commotion in his tent. He blinked his eyes open. Laurent was half-dressed and shrugging on his jacket without lacing his linen undershirt. Nikandros was standing in the tent entrance and eyeing Laurent with dismay. Damen sat up but the two other men paid him no attention. 

Nikandros said something about Veretian sexual morals and lack of honor.

“There’s only certain things Akielon barbarians are good for,” said Laurent, drawling in the manner he used when he was trying especially to be annoying.

“Do you require an escort to find your way to your own camp?” said Nikandros.

Laurent leaned in close to him. “I can manage it,” he said, ducking out of the tent. 

Nikandros watched Laurent leave, and then turned his eyes on Damen. “Damianos.”

Damen sighed. “Old friend--”

Nikandros’s gaze was disappointed. “I was worried this--”

“I don’t wish to talk about--”

“I told you coming to this festival--”

“It is not what you think--”

“It is exactly--”

Nikandros lectured Damen until Damen was accidentally rescued by Eradne and Euandros arriving to take their father to breakfast.


	6. Chapter 6

Leon found his father at breakfast with Eradne and Euandros. He waited throughout the meal and tried to approach his father for conversation after they had eaten, but Damen was pulled away by Heston to be introduced to a merchant. 

The day was filled with festival events. In the morning there were performances by various musicians on stringed instruments, followed by singers. In Akielos it was common for performers to sing and accompany themselves on a lyre, but in Vere performers tended to specialize. Veretians didn’t just choose singing or instruments exclusively, but specialized even within instrumental performance on particular sizes of stringed instruments. 

Leon arranged to move his chair next to his father in the Akielon royal pavilion. During a quieter piece on a stringed instrument as tall as a large man, Leon leaned in to Damen. 

“Father?”

Damen turned toward him. 

“Why did you leave New Artes?”

Damen’s gaze became sharp. “I didn’t.”

Leon frowned. “It is abandoned--”

Damen sighed. “I only meant that Laurent left first. Once we were no longer ruling together, it was easier to return to Ios.”

“Why did the King of Vere leave New Artes?” said Leon, thinking again of his youthful memory of the blond-haired king in a garden. He tried to place that garden in the marble partial construction they had passed on the way to the festival, but everything about the memory was fuzzy besides his impression of the king and the sense of sunlight.

“No, Leon,” said Damen, facing the musicians again.

Leon could feel his face flushing at his father’s rebuke, and hoped that it wasn’t visible. 

In the afternoon, the contests of musicians changed to dancing contests. Aratia loved dancing, and she competed against other girls her age. She wore a flowing linen dress that swirled around her as she spun, and her curls made a golden halo. 

A judge came out to present awards, and Aratia beamed as she was given a ribbon. “Father,” she called over to the pavilion. “Come dance with me!” Damen laughed and went down to the dancing ground to hold her hands and spin and step with her during the celebratory music. 

When his father wasn’t looking, Leon gestured for one of the servants to put wine in his goblet. He glanced out at the dancing to see if Damen had noticed, which he had not, and then Leon’s eyes caught on the other royal pavilion where King Laurent’s eyes were directly on him. Laurent was also holding a goblet. Laurent held his gaze evenly. Leon felt himself flush again, and sipped from his goblet defensively. 

Leon looked out at the dancers again, though he still felt Laurent’s eyes on him. Aratia was telling Damen how to step in a line dance, and Damen was laughing and trying his best to follow along though he didn’t know the dance and was consistently a step behind the music. 

During the evening meal, Leon split his attention between his father and King Laurent in the other pavilion. The Akielon pavilion was bustling, with the four children and their attendants coming and going, and Nikandros and Heston visiting to speak with Damen or join in watching the entertainments for a time. The Veretian pavilion was sedate, with just Laurent sitting alone, watching the events or looking back at Leon, and the only activity was when Laurent gestured to one of his servants to refill his goblet.

Leon noticed that his father smiled a great deal during the evening meal, grinning with crinkled eyes with Aratia as she showed off her ribbon and laughing loudly when Heston told a joke. Damen never looked over at the Veretian pavilion, though. His eyes stayed at their table. 

After the meal, the pavilions were lit by torches and moonlight, and there was more dancing and music, though no longer in an organized and judged competition. Now it was only people enjoying themselves and laughing and twirling. Servants brought out a dessert course and sweet wine. 

Leon stood, and dodged around a servant carrying small plates of sweets, and ducked out of the pavilion. No one paid much attention, and he walked off as though he were going to relieve himself, and then toward the edge of the festival, he turned to the left and walked around the edges toward the other pavilion. 

He expected to be stopped. He thought his father might have a guard follow him, or that when he reached the Veretian pavilion the Veretian guards would bar his entrance. They merely nodded at him respectfully and murmured his title, and Leon walked up the steps. 

There were other chairs, in the Veretian pavilion, even though Laurent had been sitting alone throughout the day. 

Laurent had turned to watch Leon’s approach, sipping from his goblet. 

Leon waited at the top step for Laurent to say something. 

Laurent said nothing. After a moment, Leon took a breath and stepped into the pavilion and seated himself on one of the other chairs. 

Laurent still said nothing. 

“King Laurent--” Leon hadn’t decided, in his mind, the best way to frame his question.

“Prince Leon,” said Laurent. Leon couldn’t tell if Laurent were mocking him, and he could feel his face growing warm again, but told himself it wouldn’t be visible in the torchlight.

“I wanted to ask you something,” said Leon. He would have only one opportunity to ask this, he knew. King Laurent might not grant him a second audience, and even if he did, it would not be so easy to sneak away from his father a second time. Any moment now Damen might notice that Leon was still missing and turn his gaze over to the Veretian pavilion. Leon did not think his father would drag him out, exactly, but he did suspect his conversation would be interrupted in some fashion. 

Laurent made a gesture with his goblet that indicated Leon could continue with his question.

“It’s about my father,” said Leon. Laurent raised an eyebrow. “Why did you leave him?”

Laurent sipped from his goblet before he said anything. Leon waited, poised on the edge of his chair.

“I was a coward,” said Laurent.

That was not the response Leon had expected. He had expected something political, some kind of state secret--or, more realistically, a hint that such a secret existed. Or perhaps something romantic. A passion for someone else, an illicit lover. He hadn’t expected cowardice.

“What do you mean?” said Leon.

Laurent did not seem to share his father’s hesitation in discussing the topic. “It was hard,” said Laurent, “Running a kingdom that had recently been at war. Harder still to join two kingdoms that had long been enemies. There was little time for anything besides work. Damianos and I fought more than either of us expected that we would, and then saw each other less often than we hoped. I had no notion of how to handle it when we fought or how to forge a relationship that would last. I began to fear that at some point he would tire of the fighting and of the work and he would leave me, and I was too cowardly to let that happen.”

Laurent called his father Damianos, which almost no one else did. In Akielos, everyone addressed the king as “Exalted” or were close enough to him to use his small name and call him Damen. 

Leon shook his head. “I don’t understand. You were afraid of leaving so you left.”

Laurent drank again from his goblet, and then nodded.

“That seems foolish.”

Laurent laughed, without true humor. “Yes, perhaps so.”

“Nikandros said you were wise,” said Leon. 

Laurent laughed again, and there was true humor in it this time. “Nikandros said that? Did he look as though he were eating a lemon as he said it?”

Nikandros had looked sour throughout the conversation where Leon had attempted to learn about Laurent. “But,” said Leon. “Father misses you.”

“I miss him,” said Laurent. “I miss you.”

Leon flushed again, and glanced down toward the wooden floor of the pavilion, and then back up again at Laurent. “I didn’t know if you remembered me.”

Laurent was gazing on him. “I remember. I think of you every day,” said Laurent. 

Leon lowered his eyes again reflexively, and then deliberately met Laurent’s gaze again. “So why--”

“Leon!” Nikandros’s voice interrupted them. They turned, and he was approaching the Veretian pavilion. 

The guards didn’t bar Nikandros from the tent either, and he came up the steps. Laurent didn’t get up to greet Nikandros, either respectfully the way a subordinate in Akielos would have greeted the Kyros of Ios, or in a friendly fashion the way Damen would have greeted his friend. Laurent stayed insouciantly lounged in his chair and signalled to one of the servants to refill his goblet.

Nikandros greeted Laurent warily with his title. 

“Kyros,” Laurent said easily.

“Leon, it’s time to go,” said Nikandros. 

Leon glanced at Laurent, reluctant to leave when his questions felt unanswered. Laurent made a shooing gesture at him, and Leon obediently rose to follow Nikandros out of the pavilion. 

Leon allowed himself to be led away willingly enough, but once they were far enough away from the Veretian pavilion, he said, “I don’t know if King Laurent is as wise as you said, Nikandros.” Nikandros’s face made a complicated expression.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was part 2/2 of a writing deal with Kittendiamore, which both of us concluded was satisfactory!

Damen went to bed late. He lingered with Aratia in the tent she shared with Eradne, listening to Aratia happily retell all of the details of the dancing contest and describe again the ribbon that she won. The ribbon was made of Kemptian silk. There were red ruffles sewn around a central medallion, and then three tails of silk dangling from the bottom of it. Aratia did not know if she wanted to hang it in the great hall, where all might admire it but where she could not guard it to herself, or in her bedchambers, where it would not be appreciated by others but she could protect it appropriately. Finally, Damen kissed her on the forehead, encouraged her to rest, dream of dancing, and reassured her that her prize ribbon would still be next to her on the pillow when she awoke the next day.

By the time Damen left his daughters and retired to his own tent, he found that Laurent was already there, standing by the brazier and looking uncertain.

“You’re here again.”

Laurent spoke with the affected drawl he sometimes used, and it annoyed Damen. “Well, I thought that Nikandros might bar the tent door, but he seems busy.”

“Good,” said Damen.

Laurent seemed surprised by that statement. He would have known that two appearances were enough of a pattern for Damen to not be surprised to see him a third time, but he did not seem to have expected Damen to look forward to his visits.

“Tonight,” said Damen, “I want you to fuck me.”

Laurent seemed even more surprised by that. Damen could recognize surprise still in his face, the tiny signals and forcibly blank expression. 

They had done that before, of course. There had been the first time, at the summer palace, when Laurent’s skin had been pink and the sundrenched days had blurred into each other and Damen had whispered “Do you want?” and Laurent had swallowed and nodded.

They had after that, as well, when the mood struck, but it had never been what they did most frequently. It didn’t seem to have been what Laurent had been thinking about in coming to Damen’s tent this evening. 

“Why?” said Laurent.

“There are only certain things Akielon barbarians are good for,” Damen threw Laurent’s words to Nikandros from that morning back at him. Laurent flinched minutely. “And that’s what I want,” said Damen. He raised an eyebrow challengingly at Laurent.

“Fine,” said Laurent. 

“Fine,” said Damen. They stared at each other for a long moment before either of them moved.

They each took off their own clothes. Their eyes met across the tent in a vaguely challenging way as they undressed, as though each of them were waiting for the other to back down. 

It wasn’t like the night before, when Damen had been determined to undo Laurent with tenderness. It wasn’t like the night before that when it had felt as though the tent was overflowing with unspoken words. 

This night it was athletic and energetic, and they only spoke about practical things. 

“Is your knee--”

“Yes, it’s fine. Can you lean forward--yes, there.”

Damen enjoyed the feeling of Laurent pressing inside of him, Laurent leaning against his back. There had been no one before Laurent that he had ever trusted to share this particular pleasure with, and there had been no one since. 

Laurent finished with a cry that could probably be heard beyond Damen’s tent walls. He collapsed on the bedroll next to where Damen was still on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. 

Damen hadn’t come yet, and he looked over at Laurent. Laurent was flushed and glistening with sweat. Laurent was looking back at him, his eyes moving down from Damen’s face to take in his body.

Damen reached for the oil, and held the phial in his hands and raised an eyebrow at Laurent. Laurent nodded, and rolled onto his stomach. Pushing inside of Laurent was a deep pleasure. It was like coming home, like forgetting the ten years that had passed between them and pretending everything was still fine between them. Laurent felt the same, Damen felt the same when he was taking Laurent. Damen wanted him so much it almost hurt, inside, a tense longing feeling that wasn’t satisfied even as his body found completion. 

The next morning, Damen observed that Nikandros was obviously and determinedly avoiding the King’s tent, probably with the rightful fear that he might again run into the King of Vere leaving it. 

Aratia awoke early, according to her governess, and spent the morning showing everyone in the Akielon camp her prize ribbon. By mid-morning, Damen heard, she had already accepted the praise of the Akielos, and had ventured over to the Veretian side of the camp to show off her ribbon there. Amidst the Veretians, she apparently encountered the Veretian King--or Laurent deliberately went to intercept her, Damen thought--and she showed Laurent her ribbon. 

The first part of this story was told to Damen by Aratia’s governess. The second part, Aratia told him herself. “He said it was a very fine ribbon, and that my dancing had been very good to earn it.”

“You danced very well,” Daman agreed. “You have practiced a great deal and it showed.”

“The King danced with me,” said Aratia.

“Oh?”

“He showed me a Veretian dance,” said Aratia.

“Was it a minuet?” said Damen, remembering Laurent showing him the steps to that dance many years prior.

“Yes,” said Aratia happily. “It’s a Veretian dance for two people,” she said, and launched into everything else that she had learned about the minuet.

Aratia’s description launched into a demonstration, and since she required a partner, Damen found himself dancing the minuet along with her to imaginary music. Half of his mind was on his daughter, and her lectures about his foot placement, and how he should really move, “More lightly! Like a sprite!” The other half of his mind was back in Arles, on one of his visits there with Laurent, where the Veretian musicians had filled the over-decorated hall with music and Laurent had laughingly shown Damen the steps.

The hall in Vere had been filled with mirrors, Damen remembered, and so every time he turned, he had been confronted with Laurent laughing, and after the music had ended, Laurent had still been smiling at him affectionately, and Damen had drawn Laurent’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

“The King of Vere is a better dancer than you are,” Aratia told Damen.

“Yes, but I am better at swordfighting,” Damen told her.

“Do you see any swords here?” said Aratia, ignoring the fact that Damen was, in fact, wearing a sword sheathed on his back. “The King of Vere did not step half so much on my feet, pay attention.”

In the evening, Damen retired early, and he was pouring a glass of wine when Laurent arrived. 

“Would you like some?” said Damen. He expected Laurent to decline; Laurent had usually declined intoxicating beverages when they had been together. He drank them on occasion, when it would be rude not to, but he didn’t favor the way they affected his head.

Laurent surprised him, and nodded, and Damen poured a second glass. 

Laurent seated himself across from Damen, accepted the glass, and they drank. 

There was quiet between them. It felt unfamiliar. Damen remembered when evenings between them had been filled with talk. It had been that way even when he had been Laurent’s slave on the way to the border. When they had retired in private, then it was each of their opportunities to share alone what they might not have said in front of others. Laurent spun plans that he was considering and canted his head to the side as Damen offered feedback. Damen pointed out his objections to the day’s events that he had not wanted to discredit Laurent in public, and Laurent considered them.

When they had been at Marlas, they had spent evenings talking of anything and everything. A courtier’s peculiar expression during council. Ancel’s latest trendsetting outfit. Vannes’s report from Vask. What Leon had spit up on Nikandros. 

At least at first. Damen didn’t like to think of it, but as time had passed, their evenings had become more and more quiet, until Laurent had avoided them altogether, traveling from the capital much of the time and keeping separate chambers when he was back.

However far away Laurent’s thoughts might be, Laurent was seated right across from Damen. When Damen’s glass was empty, he said, “Bed?” and Laurent nodded, tipped the remainder of his glass down his throat, and followed Damen across the tent.

Once they were in the bed, an air of urgency accompanied their movements. Laurent undressed as though he were worried they might be interrupted at any moment. Damen tried to draw Laurent into a kiss, but Laurent pushed him instead onto his back on the bed, and the crouched over him. There was a long moment where Damen understood what Laurent was planning.

“Would you--” Damen said. He reconsidered, but Laurent was waiting, so he finished. “Let down your hair?”

Laurent agreeably unwound a leather tie holding his hair back, and it fell loosely around his shoulders. He moved to lean in again, and this time Damen did not stop him. 

Laurent began slowly, mapping Damen’s abdomen and thighs with his lips and his hands. His hair brushed along Damen’s leg sometimes when he moved as a tantalizing tease. This closeness seemed to affect Laurent as much as it did Damen, and after a time of reacquainting himself with Damen’s body, Laurent made a noise of desire, and then licked his way from the base of Damen’s cock to the tip, and then took the head of it into his mouth.

Damen cried out.

Laurent applied warm pressure with his mouth, and then pulled away. He took a deep breath, like a man admiring a chef’s fine meal before eating it, licked his lips, and said, “I haven’t, since--”

But that comment did not seem to require Damen’s response, because he lowered his head again. Damen was not surprised by this confession. His formal ambassador to Vere and his informal spy network in Arles both told him the same thing, that Laurent kept company with no one. It worried the court. Laurent had no heirs and no prospects of having any. 

Laurent remembered what Damen liked. Laurent had learned what Damen liked, when Laurent used his mouth, over the course of their first year together. And Laurent had learned what he liked when giving pleasure that way. Damen understood, after things Laurent had said and all that had taken place at the Kingsmeet, that Laurent had approached Damen at first uncertain about that particular act. He had found it too full of memories he did not care to think about. 

Yet through their time together, Damen had the impression Laurent had come to enjoy pleasing Damen that way very much. Damen hesitated to suggest it, knowing Laurent’s reluctance, but Laurent brought it up often. He used his mouth on Damen while Damen was still recovering from his injury from Kastor, and the habit continued even when Damen was recovered and capable of more athletic bedplay. Laurent went from carefully instructing Damen not to touch him while he was performing fellatio to encouraging it, first reaching for one of Damen’s hands to place it on his shoulder, then his head, then pulling off to encourage Damen to grip his hair more tightly. 

They had rolled in bed numerous times, but Laurent especially seemed to like when Damen was standing and Laurent went down on his knees in front of him. Sometimes their eyes would meet in some public location--the stables, the courtyard, the dinner hall--and there was a particular glint in Laurent’s eye that told Damen that he was thinking of sucking Damen’s cock at that particular moment, and it inevitably left Damen aroused and blushing at the least convenient moments.

Laurent’s hair was longer, now, and Damen ran his hands through it. Then, he gathered it back with his hand, so that he could see Laurent’s face. He propped his head up on a pillow and watched. Laurent’s eyes were closed, and he was moving slowly yet deliberately, and with evident relish. 

Damen ran his fingers delicately over Laurent’s cheek. Laurent raised his head for a moment and licked teasingly at Damen’s fingers, and Damen gave a breath of laughter, and Laurent met his eyes. The edges of Laurent’s eyes were crinkled as though he were laughing also.

The moment of shared mirth between them was almost too much, for Damen, and his smile faded with a pang of hurt that cut through him, but Laurent had closed his eyes and lowered his head again and didn’t see it disappear.


	8. Chapter 8

Leon had been instructed by the steward Erkule in his official duties at the peace summit, which mostly involved standing next to his father or occasionally presenting an award for some kind of sport. One of the days, he had to open the archery competition by carefully proclaiming a statement about the peace and prosperity the games represented in both Akielon and Veretian. 

But his official duties did not occupy all of his time, and the remainder of his time he was free to explore. Nikandros usually did not like Leon doing anything outside the palace walls without a set of at least two of the royal guards, so his interest in exploring the city of Ios or the countryside of that region--or of any area that they visited--was hampered by always being accompanied by someone else. Leon had complained about this, but Nikandros was implacable. “You have a responsibility to the kingdom,” Nikandros said. “A man might risk his own life at his own discretion; a Prince does not have the same liberty.”

At the summit, Nikandros seemed to have forgotten about assigning Leon a guard. The whole camp was guarded, of course, but it was also as busy as a town market. So Leon remained cautious with his explorations but was carefully not mentioning Nikandros’s oversight.

The summit lasted for six days. On the fifth day, Leon talked with some Veretian archers, watched a potter from Vask make a jar, and then spotted Eradne, reading under a tree. Leon had strong feelings about his own liberties and freedom to explore, but Eradne was only seven, and it didn’t seem like she should be alone, especially oblivious with a book, and so Leon headed that direction.

Someone else reached Eradne first. Leon contemplating breaking into a run, and then recognized the figure approaching her as the King of Vere, and stopped behind another tree.

The King came a few steps away from Eradne, and then said, very politely and in Akielon, “Can I join you?”

Eradne considered this for a moment, and then nodded decisively. Laurent seated himself next to her under the tree.

“What are you reading?” the King asked.

“A book,” said Eradne. Her tone was the one she sometimes used with Euandros to indicate he was being inexplicably foolish.

Laurent simply nodded.

Eradne, who was known for reading in the middle of conversations that bored her, continued staring at Laurent for a moment. “Are you a ghost?”

The King took that question more seriously than it merited. “No,” he said. “Do you often talk to ghosts?”

Eradne wrinkled her nose. “No.”

“I see,” said Laurent.

“Have you ever talked to a ghost?” Eradne said.

The King seemed to consider this question seriously as well. He had one of his knees up and he laced his hands around it, looking up at the tree branches thoughtfully. “I tried a few times but I’m not sure he was listening.”

Eradne nodded. “I’m not a ghost.”

“Ah,” said Laurent.

Eradne set the book down next to her on the grass. “I didn’t really think you were a ghost,” she said, leaning in toward the King. “But at home,” she said, “Everyone talks about you as though you were dead.”

Laurent leaned in toward her confidentially. “How’s that?”

“With that tone,” said Eradne, “They whisper, like this,” she demonstrated. “Like if they are talking about Uncle Kastor or King Theomedes.”

“I see,” said Laurent again.

“They are dead,” Eradne clarified.

“I know.”

“But I haven’t ever talked to their ghosts,” said Eradne. 

Laurent nodded seriously. 

“Also,” Eradne continued. “You’re very pale. So I thought I should ask.”

“That’s very practical of you,” said Laurent. “I brought you a gift.” He handed over a book tied with a ribbon.

Eradne pulled the ribbon off thoughtfully.

“That was my favorite book when I was a boy,” said the King.

Said Eradne, “Leon has this book!”

Laurent smiled. “Yes, I gave it to him, a long time ago.” Leon recognized the book, and he did indeed have a copy. He hadn’t known that Laurent had given it to him, though he supposed that explained why his nurse as a boy had discouraged him from asking his Father to read it to him. “Pick something else,” his nurse would say, and when he was old enough to read it himself Leon had never bothered. He would change that, he thought. He would read it when he returned to Ios. 

Eradne was surprised. “You know my brother?”

Laurent smiled at her.

Leon watched as they talked a bit longer, and then Laurent left Eradne to her two books, the one she had been reading and the new one he had gifted her. She reopened her book and did not watch as he walked away, but Leon watched the King closely and he glanced back three times at Eradne as he walked away.

Leon ate lunch with his siblings. He was quiet, and Aratia told them all about how she had encountered the King of Vere while practicing archery and he had shown her how to draw with an arrow with Veretian fletching.

“I like King Laurent,” said Aratia.

Leon sniffed. “I don’t see how he has any time for ruling, if he keeps following us around to offer sporting suggestions.”

“Maybe he will help me with swords again,” said Euandros. “I am going to be a great swordsman--”

“--Like father,” Aratia and Leon chorused along with him.

“We know, Andy,” said Aratia. “Leon, perhaps he is just ignoring you because you aren’t good at sports.”

Leon gaped. “He’s not ignoring me!” said Leon. “And I’m good at sports!” He kind of knew that it wasn’t true and he protested anyway. 

“Leon is still growing into his strength,” said Euandros defensively, which was how their father described the fact that Leon was fourteen and still two heads shorter than Father was. 

“Be quiet, Andy,” said Leon rudely, not needing a six-year-old to defend him.

“Don’t be rude to Andy,” said Aratia. 

“Stop being so loud!” Eradne complained.

Leon, Aratia, and Euandros each had their mouths open to continue the argument, when Nikandros approached and stood next to their table. 

“What’s going on?”

Leon looked at the table. “Nothing,” said Aratia sweetly, because she was the best liar of all of them.

“Nikandros,” said Euandros, “Leon is still growing into his strength, isn’t he?”

Nikandros raised an eyebrow at Leon, and then looked back at Euandros. “I expect he’ll continue to grow, yes,” said Nikandros. “You’re probably done growing, right?”

“What?” Euandros squawked. “No! I am going to be bigger than Father!”

“Then you should eat your fish,” said Nikandros, pointing at Euandros’s plate.

“It has bones in it,” said Euandros, and in the ensuing argument about fish, Leon slipped away from the table. 

Leon slipped away to where the horses were being kept in a paddock. His mare Meli spotted him and walked over to where he was standing against the fence, and he rubbed her face affectionately. 

She wanted a treat, and Leon hadn’t thought to bring one for her. 

“Here,” said a voice near to Leon.

He spun around. He felt oddly betrayed that Meli hadn’t warned him that someone else was approaching. 

It was King Laurent. He was holding out a carrot to Leon. Leon accepted it, and offered it to Meli, who ate it greedily. Horses were too easily won over, Leon thought. 

“She’s beautiful,” said Laurent. “From Aegina?”

Leon nodded. 

“What’s her name?” Leon realized that Laurent was speaking Akielon. He had a bit of a lilting accent as he did so.

“Meli,” said Leon. “For her color.”

Laurent nodded, stepping closer. Meli eyed him, and then permitted Laurent to stroke her also. “Yes, she is exactly the color of dark spring honey.”

“Father said that our hair matches,” said Leon, which he had, since both Meli and Leon had unusually light hair color for Ios. Then he wondered why he had said something so foolish, but Laurent was laughing.

“I can see it,” Laurent acknowledged. 

They were quiet for a long moment, with only Meli’s sniffing in between them.

“You are beautiful,” said Laurent, and his face now was pressed against Meli’s nose, but Leon wasn’t entirely certain that Laurent was talking to the horse.

“Why did you leave me?” said Leon, ignoring how his voice broke while he said it.

Laurent turned from Meli to look at Leon. “I didn’t want to. I wanted to take you with me.”

Leon imagined it for a moment. Growing up in Vere. People didn’t like to talk about Vere very much around his father, and when they did, Father often said things like, “It isn’t like that anymore,” so it was hard for Leon to picture what it would have been like. “Why didn’t you?”

Laurent was quiet. “Your father would have declared war on me and taken you back.”

Leon just stared at Laurent.

“I didn’t trust myself to raise you,” said Laurent. “I thought you would be better off with Damen--and you were,” his words now had the ring of some oft-repeated argument. “Your father is a better parent than I--and you have your sisters, and Euandros--”

Meli sighed, and Leon patted her nose without letting his eyes leave the King of Vere.

“I had a plan, when you were Euandros’s age, to take you back--your father had Aratia by then, and I was going to offer him Delpha--” Laurent was speaking very quickly. It sounded like an awfully complicated plan to Leon. “But your father would not have permitted--”

“Why did you not just ask him to let me visit you?” said Leon, bewildered.

Laurent made a noise, and raised one of his hands to his mouth. “It wasn’t that simple, Leon.”

“Why not?”

Laurent reached a hand out toward Leon and it was trembling. “I’m sorry, Leon,” he said. “I--” the King’s voice broke in the same way Leon’s had earlier. “I’m sorry. I did so many things wrong. I should have--” he swallowed. “But there is no point in that now. I am sorry. But it was better for you, with Damen.”

Then the King of Vere let his hand drop, and turned around, and Leon was left alone again with his horse.


	9. Chapter 9

Laurent came to Damen’s tent again on the final night of the summit. He had been notably absent during the final dinner, and when he appeared in Damen’s tent he was casually dressed in riding leathers, not wearing evening court clothes.

Laurent was not holding a wine bottle the way he had been the first night he had come, but there was something to the way that he walked as he came in that led Damen to ask, eyes narrowed, “Are you drunk?”

“No,” said Laurent. Damen considered if he believed that. “Then, this would be easier.”

Laurent crossed the room. 

“Are we going to talk about it?” said Damen. He had been waiting, the entire summit, for this argument. He was braced for Laurent’s words like he might have been braced for a blow. Laurent’s words would cut him, Damen was sure, but it would be the healing kind of cut. The way a physician would drain a wound of pus. Damen had some of his own words to share with Laurent. Things that he ought to have said ten years ago but Laurent had not been listening. 

Laurent was still not listening. “Talk about what?” said Laurent, and then displayed little patience for words at all, pushing Damen down against his bedroll. 

They had sex quickly, with an edge of desperation, and it seemed to leave Laurent emotional and clingy. Laurent sat on Damen’s lap, facing him. Damen felt torn between taking Laurent in his arms to comfort him and pushing him away from frustration. He sat underneath Laurent, uncertain. They kissed slowly. Laurent had a hold on Damen’s hands, clutching the thumb of his left hand and the palm of his right. 

“I will miss this,” Laurent said slowly. His face was pressed against Damen’s neck.

Damen felt that his heart was beating so hard than Laurent must be able to feel it where their chests were pressed together. _You don’t have to miss this,_ he wanted to say. _We can have this again. A kingdom or this._

If he said any of that, he felt confident that Laurent would flee again. Damen swallowed. “Leon is fourteen,” he said.

Laurent looked at him. His eyes were blue in the darkness.

“It’s traditional for boys of fifteen or sixteen to spend a few seasons away from home, to learn at another keep,” said Damen. 

Laurent nodded.

“I thought,” said Damen. “You might have him in Arles?”

Laurent’s eyes widened. He sucked in a breath. His grip tightened on Damen’s hands. Damen could tell he was surprised.

“If you are willing?” said Damen.

“Yes,” said Laurent, quickly. He leaned in again, his lips brushing against Damen’s shoulder. It seemed as though something released inside of him, and he kept speaking, his words still coming quickly. “There is so much I could teach Leon, Damen,” he said. “I could take him hunting, and show him the library, and introduce him to the council--”

Laurent sat up again and looked Damen in the eye. “Yes,” he said a second time. “I would like that very much.”

Damen nodded. Laurent leaned in and brushed their lips together softly. It felt like a thank you.

Laurent looked at Damen’s eyes again, then glanced down at their joined hands resting against his thigh. He looked up at Damen again. “Leon is my heir,” he said.

Damen’s eyes opened wider. He absorbed the information. “I see,” said Damen. It made sense, in one way, and yet Damen had a dozen questions. How had Laurent arranged--did his council know? Would Leon face turmoil in Vere upon Laurent’s death--?

“Perhaps,” said Damen, “a longer fostering would be appropriate.” If Leon would need to learn the ways of Vere as well as Akielos, he would have to spend time there--

Laurent made a noise and rested his head against Damen’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, after a long moment.

Damen said nothing, but he gave into his earlier impulse to gather Laurent against him, and caressed Laurent’s back tenderly. The silence was gentle. 

“That means so much to me, Damen,” said Laurent. “To have someone--to not be alone--”

_You don’t have to be alone,_ Damen thought, remembering the day that Laurent had stood in the courtyard supervising the departure of his wagon trains from Marlas. _You never had to be alone._

Laurent sat up and looked Damen in the eye again. “I need to tell you something.”

Damen made a noise to indicate he was listening. 

“You have another son.”

Damen frowned.

“In Vask,” Laurent continued. “From the night at the coupling fire.”

“What?” said Damen. He tried to discern where this was going from Laurent’s face. 

“He is fourteen, like Leon,” said Laurent. “His name is Dunas.”

Damen took in a surprised breath.

Laurent continued. “He’s so amazing, Damen. He’s so much like you--and he’s the most amazing rider.”

Damen gave a surprised half-laugh. “I suppose you gave him a horse,” he said, thinking of Laurent’s typical generosity when he discovered another rider at heart.

“Three horses,” Laurent said, with a deprecating laugh. 

Damen drew one of his hands free of Laurent’s grip and wrapped it around Laurent’s neck, instead, and drew him in for a kiss. “Does he know, about me? Would he--can I meet him?”

“He knows,” said Laurent. “I don’t know if he would want to meet you--I have offered to have him, in Arles, and he says leaving Vask is not to his tastes, but if you went to see him?”

Damen nodded, thinking.

Laurent continued. “He writes to me occasionally. I can ask him.”

Damen leaned in and kissed Laurent softly. “Thank you. I would like that.”

Laurent began talking about the first time he had met Dunas, during one of his negotiations with the Empire. Damen let the words wash over him, feeling more attentive to the feel of Laurent’s weight on his legs, and the press of Laurent’s skin against his chest. 

He thought of interrupting Laurent. Of turning their conversation. If there was ever a moment to speak of it, certainly it was now, when Laurent was pressed warmly against him and speaking earnestly and quietly to him. Damen did not want to spend the next ten years regretting again things that had gone unsaid. 

He had resolved his other business at the summit. He had selected a tasteful necklace for Jokaste. He had met a skilled craftsman who also worked in a wheeled chair and had purchased some of the man’s recommended contraptions to see if Xanthippe would like them. Leon had behaved like a Prince and Damen had told his son how proud he was of him. Aratia and Eradne and Euandros had seemed to have a good time seeing the mix of Vere and Akielos that the summit had brought together. Their ministers had settled the trade agreement. Nikandros had breathed a sigh of relief the previous morning when he and Laurent had each ceremonially signed the trade agreement.

Laurent was talking about Dunas’s skill at archery. 

“Laurent,” Damen said, when Laurent took a breath. 

Laurent must have heard something of Damen’s intention in his tone, because he tensed in Damen’s lap.

“I’d like to talk about what happened.” Damen kept his embrace close around Laurent partly because Laurent seemed so tense that he might flee at any moment. 

Laurent said nothing. Damen couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t relaxed in Damen’s lap.

“Why bother?” said Laurent. His voice sounded bitter. “We both know what happened.”

Damen was not sure that he did know what happened. “Laurent--”

Laurent leaned back, straining against Damen’s embrace. “I don’t want to talk.”

Damen sighed and loosened his arms.

“It was my fault,” said Laurent. “I have already thought of all of the things I have done wrong. There is no need to discuss it.”

“There are things each of us could have done differently,” said Damen evenly.

Laurent snorted. He reached across the bedroll for his shirt, and pulled the linen over his head.

“Laurent,” Damen said again, feeling tired and disappointed.

“Do not speak to me with that tone,” said Laurent, “As though I don’t already know--”

“I don't understand what happened,” said Damen. “I don’t understand why you gave up--”

“Gave up?” said Laurent, incredulous. “You told me you were unhappy.”

“Because I wanted you to talk to me! You seemed so distant--”

“You said,” Laurent imitated Damen’s tones, “Laurent, you cannot just go off riding by yourself--”

“You disappeared and we did not know where--”

“I was merging our kingdoms and you had no idea how much work I was doing--”

“Leon and I missed you. We never saw--”

“The councils hated all of your policies, and the only reason there was no revolt was that--”

Their voices were both rising. Damen took a breath, and lowered his tone again deliberately. “I don’t care about the council,” he said.

“That was half of the problem,” said Laurent. He lowered his tone but kept the intensity, his words coming out a hiss. “You cannot just make things be the way you say even if you are the king--”

“I wanted us to rule together,” said Damen. 

Laurent was quiet. He was flushed, and still half undressed, wearing only his linen shirt. 

“I don’t even care about ruling,” said Laurent. “I would abdicate and give it all up.”

“You don’t mean that,” said Damen.

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.” Laurent rolled off of Damen’s legs and reached for his pants.

“Laurent--”

“I think we have talked enough for tonight.” Laurent tugged on his clothing and gathered his jacket in his hands.

“But perhaps we haven’t listened enough,” said Damen, but he might as well have been speaking to himself. 

Damen slept restlessly, with Laurent’s scent lingering in his bedroll but without Laurent’s warmth next to him. In the morning, Euandros and Eradne woke him, and their laughter seemed unreasonably loud, and Damen put effort into not taking out his poor humor on his children. 

The Akielon procession had readied itself to leave without Damen’s attention, fortunately, and as he woke to eat with his children, servants came in and dismantled the fixtures of the king’s tent. The tent, which was furnished and luxurious, as far as tents went, though hardly Veretian in style, went from being a sufficient residence for a king to being loaded into a wagon in less than an hour.

He rode at his assigned place in the procession, and he said to Euandros, “Tell me some things that you learned, Andy,” and then listened half-attentively and looked out at the countryside until mid-morning, when Aratia said, “Where’s Leon?”


	10. Chapter 10

Leon told no one about his plan, but he did have preparatory work to do. He told Aratia’s governess that he was going to ride his horse and not in the carriage, and then he told Pallas that he was going to ride in the carriage and that they should bring Meli on a tether. 

He wore his warmest leathers, because he knew that Vere was cold. He considered packing a bag, but discarded it as too risky. Walking around with objects, as a prince, would be suspicious, and the servants might question where some of his things were when they packed his tent. When he arrived, he could get new things. So after dressing, he walked quietly but deliberately--the way to avoid being noticed, he had discovered--over to the Veretian camp. 

Like, the Akielons, the Veretians were dismantling their tents and loading their camp into wagons. Animals were being hitched up, tent rugs and canvases were being rolled up. It took an enormous quantity of wagons to provision such a large camp. There were fires built, and extra timber used in the tents or things people no longer wished to transport with them were tossed into them. 

Leon found a covered wagon that was almost, but not quite, full of rolled carpets. He turned away a man awkwardly carrying another carpet with a brusque Veretian, “This one is full.” 

Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, he ducked inside that wagon and pulled the leather flap closed.

Then, there was nothing to do but wait. It seemed, at first, that it was taking forever for the Veretians to pack the rest of their wagons. Leon heard voices, occasionally--he could understand perhaps three-quarters of the muffled Veretian he overheard. The servants were discussing which wagons were full and which were not, and which animals were hitched and which were still being watered. 

Then, finally, after what had already seemed like hours, the full wagons were to depart, and many minutes after Leon heard some servant repeat that as the directive from the front, he felt the carpet wagon begin to move. 

The wagon was less comfortable than any he had ever encountered before. He had ridden in carriages, before, which were uncomfortable on a bumpy road, but cushioned and not filled with heavy rugs that rolled on top of him. It seemed that the road from Marlas to Arles was filled with thousands of holes, and that the carpet wagon was determined to run each of its wheels over every rut, and then that the carpets in the wagon were themselves determined to roll around as much as possible. Why did Veretians have carpets in their tents anyway, Leon wondered. 

There was nothing to do but wait, and worry about the plan. Every time the wagons stalled, Leon thought, “Perhaps I have been discovered,” and waited tensely for the tent flap to be opened. Then, Leon had the disconcerting thought that perhaps not all of the luggage that the Veretians had had in their peace summit camp came from Arles or was returning to Arles right away. What if the luggage train was headed an entirely different direction, and he found himself half-way to Kempt?

Leon was not especially good at telling the passage of time without looking at the sun. Nikandros had a gift for it. Even when they were indoors, looking at maps, for example, he would know exactly how much time had passed without even glancing at the window. Leon was not as reliable. He had worried about this to his father, once, and Damen had simply said, “You need not be good at everything, to be King. You must simply know which men are good at which things.” And Leon had observed that his father, also, was not especially good at knowing how much time passed indoors, but that when Nikandros said, politely, “Damen, do you think it is time for the evening meal?” Damen simply clapped his friend on the back and said, “My friend, you are right.”

It was, therefore, hard to tell the passage of time in the wagon. The time prior to the wagon’s departure had seemed long, every bump in the road seemed interminable, and the times that the wagon was stopped also seemed very long and endless.

The wagon finally stopped for an extended period. Leon waited. One of the carpets had half-unrolled on top of him and it was very difficult to see anything or hear anything that was happening outside of the wagon. 

He waited, and he listened, and at first he thought he hear sounds, and then he heard less commotion. They must have stopped for the night, he decided. He must have taken the unhitching of the animals as the commotion, and then now everyone must be taking some kind of shelter for the night. Perhaps they were preparing food. Leon’s stomach growled. 

He waited again, trying to give another prudent amount of time before he did anything, and then he waited some more. It must be night, by now. The camp must be mostly asleep. Finally, he squirmed his way out from the tunnel of carpets that had formed around him in the wagon toward the wagon’s canvas flap back closure. He had to wriggle on his belly something like a snake, to get out.

By the time he approached the back of the wagon, his wriggling had put him in a precarious position, over-balanced on the edge of a carpet. He braced himself with one hand on a piece of the wood of the wagon, and used his other hand to reach for the tie of the tent flap. 

He opened the tent flap, and just as he realized--it is still daylight--the wooden piece of the wagon that he was using for balance shifted, and opened, and Leon tumbled out of the back of the wagon in a slide of carpets.

Leon pushed one of the offending carpets off of him, and blinked up into the sunlight to see a man standing over him. The sun was behind the man, so all Leon could see, his eyes still adjusting to the light, was his outline. 

“I can explain,” said Leon, in Veretian.

“Can you,” said King Laurent, and he sounded deeply amused. 

Laurent took Leon away from the carpets--which servants began to reload into the wagon--and off to where a table had been set up with food for the King’s midday meal. 

Leon looked at the food wistfully, and Laurent handed him a fork and pushed his own plate Leon’s direction. “Go ahead.”

After Leon had cleared one plate, and was eyeing what seemed to be another plate sitting under a warming cover, Laurent said, “You were going to explain.”

“I want to stay with you,” said Leon.

“You want to come to Vere?”

Leon nodded. “It will be educational for me.” He had had plenty of time, the night before, and that day in the wagon, to practice the reasons, and he began to list them off.

Laurent interrupted him by raising a hand. “I assume your father doesn’t know you’ve taken up hiding out in the carpet wagon like a vagabond.”

Leon squirmed slightly under Laurent’s cool gaze. “Not exactly.”

“What, exactly, does your father know?”

“About this?” said Leon. “Nothing, really.”

Laurent steepled his hands together in front of him. “I see.” He gestured to a servant who was standing by. “The luggage can continue. My retinue will be turning around.”

“What?” said Leon, and he could hear himself whining unbecomingly but he couldn’t control it. “No! I want to go to Vere. I want to stay with you.”

“Only with your father’s blessing,” said Laurent, looking implacable. He turned back to say something else to his servant.

“You don’t even like my father,” Leon said petulantly.

Laurent turned back toward Leon sharply. “I love your father.”

“You don’t act like it,” said Leon, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I should make you ride back in that carpet wagon again,” said Laurent. 

But he did not. A saddled horse was led, from somewhere else in the Veretian procession, and after a few moments the Veretians split, the long line of wagons continuing onwards with a portion of the guards, and the King and Leon and the remainder of the guards turning the opposite direction, back to Marlas.

The ride back to Marlas passed much more quickly than the wagon journey departing it. The riders could progress more quickly without the wagons becoming stuck on the roads every few minutes, and there were fewer men in the King’s retinue than there were in the entire procession. 

Leon snuck glances at the Veretian King riding next to him. The King was a fine rider, and atop a magnificent horse. Laurent seemed relaxed, looking straight ahead with an even expression. 

As they approached the campgrounds at Marlas, Leon could see another group of riders approaching from the other direction, flying his father’s colors.

The two sets of riders proceeded directly toward each other, until they were close enough to recognize the individual riders, and Leon saw his father at the head, with Nikandros next to him, and then his siblings riding just behind. They met right in the center of the festival grounds. Laurent halted his horse in the center, and so Leon stopped next to him, and Damen came only a few feet away and then stopped also. Damen dismounted, and handed his reins to Nikandros. Then, he walked a few steps forward. His eyes were locked on Leon. 

“Get down,” Damen said. His voice was even. 

Laurent kept his gaze facing forward, but reached out a hand to take Leon’s reins, and Leon dismounted and walked a few steps forward to stand in front of his father. He lowered his eyes; he always found it hard to look at his father directly when he knew he had disappointed Damen.

Damen took a step closer and wrapped his arms around Leon tightly. 

It was an uncomfortable hug, with his father’s leather armor pressing against Leon, and yet it was unmistakably comforting. Leon made a squished noise, but his father kept hold of him, and after a moment Leon managed to get his own arms around his father and clung back to him.

Damen spoke into Leon’s hair. “You frightened me so much, Leon. Do not do that again.”

Leon mumbled into his father’s leather breastplate. “I am sorry, Father.”

Damen hugged him tighter for a final moment, and then let him go. 

Leon raised his face to his father’s and saw that Damen’s eyes were wet. “I am sorry,” he said again.

Damen smiled at him, and kept a hand on his shoulder. 

Leon felt that he had to offer more, in the face of his father’s distress. “I only wished to know King Laurent better,” he said. “To stay with him and learn about Vere.”

Damen looked at Leon closely, staring into his eyes. Leon felt his own eyes begin to become watery, but Damen nodded decisively, and said. “Fine. We’ll send your things.”

Leon started to argue preemptively, then realized his father had actually granted his permission, and stopped with his mouth half-open.

Behind him, King Laurent had also dismounted, and was now standing near to them. Laurent was close enough that he could place a gloved hand on Damen’s arm. “Could I speak with you?”

Damen removed his hand from Leon’s shoulder with a final squeeze, and acquiesced. The two kings walked several steps away, so they could speak without being overheard by the entire retinue, though Leon was still close enough to hear them faintly.

Damen began. “Do you not wish Leon to go with you?”

King Laurent was shorter than his father, and they were standing close enough together that Laurent had to look up slightly to look into Damen’s eyes, but he was doing so, his gaze even. “I would love to spend more time Leon,” said Laurent. “But it has come to my attention that Leon has perhaps more courage than I do.”

Leon could see his father swallow. “What do you mean?” said Damen.

“I spent much of last night dreaming of doing the same thing,” said Laurent. “Of hiding among your things and sneaking back to Akielos.”

Damen had wry smile. “Jord would notice you were missing.”

Laurent was smiling also. “I am more clever at disguises than your son.”

“Our son,” said Damen. Leon felt something blossom inside his chest at the insistence in his father’s tone.

Laurent nodded slowly. “Damianos,” he said, after a moment, still gazing up at Damen. “I don’t want to hide. But I do not wish for you to leave.” He swallowed, and continued. “Would you be--could we--try some other arrangement?”

Leon could feel that his own eyes were very wide. No one was looking at him, though. Everyone was staring at the two kings.

“Are you saying,” his father’s voice sounded choked now, “that you wish to have a relationship?”

Laurent nodded. “If you will give me--give us--a second chance.”

Leon flicked his eyes from Laurent to Damen to see his father’s answer, but his father didn’t speak, merely took a step closer to Laurent and leaned in to kiss him, wrapping Laurent close in the same type of hug he had offered Leon earlier.

Leon smiled to himself, feeling that his plan had worked out even better than he had anticipated. Behind Leon, Nikandros rubbed his hand against his face and swore under his breath that he could feel himself going grey. Leon could see that Eradne had somehow managed to sneak a book into her saddlebag and was reading and not paying very much attention to anything else, Aratia was bouncing with excitement in her saddle, and Euandros was making a face at his father’s display of public affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been such a journey! Thank you to everyone for your kind words and comments and encouragement. I wouldn't have finished it without all of your support and I greatly appreciate it.
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://josselinkohl.tumblr.com/) where I am happy to discuss my headcanons for this verse and lots of other Captive Prince thoughts! :D


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